Death Tidies Up by Barbara Colley

her, Charlotte hurried across the hall to the final apartment. The moment she entered the apartment, though, she forgot about the dark, forgot about everything.
    â€œWhat on earth?” she exclaimed as she stared at the living area.

Chapter Five
    U nlike the other three apartments, the fourth had more in it than just grime and dust.
    Several empty beer bottles littered one of the windowsills, and below the window on the floor there were a couple of empty food sacks, one from McDonald’s and one from Popeye’s. Besides the food sacks, a collection of wadded-up napkins and dirty plastic eating utensils also littered the floor.
    Charlotte felt a sudden chill as she recalled the missing screen and open window downstairs. Had someone broken into the house or was the trash simply an oversight of the construction crew?
    Even if there was an intruder, theft couldn’t have been the motive, since there was nothing to steal…except the Tiffany lamp. Besides, a thief wouldn’t take the time to eat and have a beer. She also dismissed the idea of vandalism. As far as she could tell, nothing had been damaged and there was no graffiti on the walls.
    Though still a bit uneasy, Charlotte admonished herself for her overactive imagination. “You’ve been reading too many mystery novels again,” she mumbled. The trash was more than likely left by the construction workers. Nothing more and nothing less.
    Even so, the uneasy feeling grew as she walked into the bedroom. One look at the small room was all it took to dismiss the possibility that workers had left the trash behind.
    In the middle of the dirty floor was the distinct outline of a large rectangular area that was relatively free of dust, just the right size for a sleeping bag, and there were even more beer bottles and food sacks strewn about. To Charlotte, it looked suspiciously like someone had been staying there, camping out.
    Like most large cities, New Orleans had its share of homeless people, and though Charlotte hadn’t witnessed any hanging around the Garden District, she didn’t dismiss the possibility that one could have migrated from the Quarter to the Garden District. And what better place to take up residence than in an empty house?
    After checking the windows to make sure they were all locked, Charlotte went into the bathroom. “Now that’s odd,” she muttered as she stared at a smear of something in the vanity sink that looked suspiciously like dried toothpaste.
    Did homeless people brush their teeth? Somehow the picture of a tattered, dirty man brushing his teeth didn’t quite fit the image she’d always had of a homeless person. But even more disturbing, she wondered if whoever was camping out in the house would return. She truly hoped not, at least not while she was there all alone.
    Still, the thought that the intruder could return any minute chased her all the way down the stairs and out into the dark night. Only when she was once again safely locked inside her van and driving down St. Charles Avenue did she feel even a modicum of safety.
    Whom should she call? she wondered as she slowed to a stop for a traffic light. Vince Roussel, Marian, or the police?
    If Louis was home, she could ask him.
    And since when did you start needing Louis’ advice anyway, or any man’s advice, for that matter?
    Charlotte sighed deeply. Though she’d had her qualms about renting out the other half of her double to the detective, she had to admit it had been nice to know there was a man living next door. But not just any man. Louis could be exasperating at times and they’d butted heads on more than one occasion due to his chauvinistic attitude, but he was a man of principle, a man she could trust, a man she could learn to care about….
    The traffic light turned green. Suddenly uncomfortable with the direction of her thoughts, Charlotte felt like squirming in the seat. On more than one occasion, her niece had